


You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Body Horror, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Creepy Alexander Pierce, Dubious Morality, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Relationship, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Medical Torture, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Recovery, Rescue Missions, Team as Family, Undercover Missions, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: Inspired by the song "You and Me and the Devil Makes Three" by Ye Banished PrivateersBrock Rumlow was ordered to begin a relationship with Steve Rogers to bring him down. What he didn't count on was Steve actually caring about his life or flipping his shit when he walks on one Pierce's discipline sessions. Brock might have something to do with one, because he just wasn't in the mood for getting cock up his ass after he's been shot three times and dealt with a real smart ass of a pirate named Tom Cutter.What's he actually going to do when Rogers wants him, scars from six months in a Serbian prison camp and all? And what the hell is Rogers going to do when the Winter Soldier shows up after he's given Rollins and the rest the slip?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find the song [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhUSVoDtQac). You won't regret it!

Out of all the dumb ass ideas that Pierce had, Brock had to say that this was the worst. It ranked right up there with that goddam mission that got him stranded in Serbia for six months. He wasn't stranded in the Ritz, of course, he was stranded in a prison camp and wound up damn near getting his balls cut off after he bit a guard. The part he didn't tell SHIELD HQ was that he returned as soon as he could walk and spent three glorious days making sure every damn guard felt his pain and then some. There was a reason he was so good with a stun baton and as much as he might joke with Rollins and the rest of them, he wasn't going to tell them how he got those skills.

If they wanted to know, they could go read his file. If they wanted to read his file, they could suck Pierce's dick and he would let them read it. It was as simple as that.

Brock squirmed some, not liking how vulnerable he felt. Part of his mission required that he be stripped down bare ass naked and sprawled over Roger's lap. Rogers, of course, got to keep his pants and gloves. Brock tried to focus on how much he hated the belt digging into his hips and not how strange he was feeling right now. Brock was used to a shit ton of pain when he got like this, not the slow, heady pleasure coiling in his gut. At this point, the little sounds he was making wasn't just play acting. He was actually _enjoying_ this, but a part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eventually, Rogers was going to smack him or something and he'd go right back to reality.

His eyes fluttered closed and Brock made a strangled sound. Rogers tightened his grip around Brock's dick, moving his fingers in all the right places. Brock jumped a little. He made a half grunt, half moan and sagged back as soon as Rogers started moving his hands just a little more. So. This felt good. It felt really damn good and Rogers hadn't hit him once. A part of Brock wanted to snarl something like Hail HYDRA and get the pain over with. He hated waiting for it. Pierce and his buddy Senator Moore usually slapped him around good if he screwed up and _then_ they did the fucking. Rogers was going the fucking first. Brock wasn't sure if he liked this or not.

"Hey, Rumlow? Are you still into this?"

Brock looked down and cursed internally. He'd started flagging and it looked like he was moving away from Rogers. Brock forced himself to go back where he'd been sitting, right over Rogers' hard on, and went to thinking about his favorite spank bank. "Yeah," he grunted. Brock arched his back some and looped an arm around Rogers' neck. He lazily nuzzled into his neck, something the Winter Soldier liked, and apparently that worked with Rogers, too. "Just not as young as I used to be. Gimme a minute."

Rogers bit his bottom lip and damn his blue eyes, but he looked concerned. "If you aren't into this...?"

"I am!" Brock snarled, with perhaps more force than was needed. Rogers' eyes widened. Brock swore under his breath and looked up to the heavens. If he screwed this up, he was on his way to Reinhardt and Zola for experimentation. Brock had already been dosed with a weird version of the serum for fucking up dealing with that demon pirate, Tom Cutter, and not being the bait. Sue him, but he didn't want to get his ass ripped open by half a dozen demons on a ship called _The Devil's Reach_. Brock twisted around and kissed Rogers' firmly. He knew Pierce was going to watch this later and he wanted to make sure this was good. He was valuable - he didn't need to end up as a dead body getting cut up.

"Brock, it's okay." Rogers kissed him back and cupped Brock's aching balls. He tensed - as if he was expecting Captain Boy Scout to twist them or something. All Rogers did was kiss his neck and do something with his hands that felt so good it was probably illegal. Rogers kissed Brock again and traced something soothing on his thigh, right where he'd been stabbed by a drug runner several years ago. "You're so beautiful, you know that. I love looking at you, watching you walk, seeing you lead your team... I wish I had half of your confidence."

That was nice, but it wasn't completing the mission.

Brock opened his mouth to say something, but his phone lit up and lyrics to an old sea shanty came pouring out. Brock tried to throw it, but it slipped out of his hand and kept warbling about a guy drowning in the cold and billowing seas. The man swore under his breath and jerked away from Rogers. So. He didn't feel like he needed to scrub himself with bleach after this and he was still hard. Well, that was a new one on him. Brock jabbed the phone and glanced up at Rogers. Rogers was looking at him like he didn't understand what was going on. Brock was supposed to be luring Rogers in close to him, like he was a normal human being and not a fuck toy that functioned as STRIKE leader, so that meant he had to divulge privileged information to someone he'd known for a week. Lovely.

"My mother said I was descended from Blackbeard." Brock dumped the caller (he thought it was Nick Fury.) and stood back up. He could get this going again, but Rogers was already sniffing around. Brock crawled back on the couch and deftly grabbed his shirt. He didn't mind being on the bottom. He just had issues taking it up the ass. He curled up beside Rogers and flashed his most jaunty smile. "Always been interested in pirates. Wouldn't mind you being my pirate prince."

_You happy, Pierce? Why don't you get Rollins to do this job? Or someone with actual **training**?_

Rogers pulled Brock close to him and grabbed a blanket. "In that case, why don't you get presentable and we can watch Pirates of the Caribbean together. Unless you want to finish..."

Yeah, Brock wasn't in the mood and he usually didn't get an out. "Movie and popcorn? Yeah, move over Spangles."

He'd take the punishment later, but Brock liked popcorn better than sex, thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

Brock knew he was going to get it as soon as he got back. Really, he did. Instead of spending the night getting fucked raw by Captain America, he spent it cuddled up to said Avenger, watching a movie and drinking good beer. It wasn't the cheap stuff he usually bought. This was the good stuff, the kind that Brock couldn't exactly afford. The only time he _might_ get something like this was if there was a party, but then he and the Winter Soldier were usually the favors. By the end of it, he was usually in too much pain to try and get the good beer. Most of Pierce's friends didn't even drink beer - they were into old wines or even brandy. None of that Brock liked. He'd only drink it if the water was questionable.

Six months in Serbia taught him not to drink the bad water. Almost dying of dysentery did it, too.

He squirmed out of Cap's embrace and grabbed for his tac-pants. If he walked like he'd been well fucked, there was a good chance that they would leave him alone. There was also a good chance that Winter would get beyond pissed off. As far as Winter cared, Brock was his and his_ alone_. He might share with Pierce if he had too, but otherwise he wasn't about to do that unless he was utterly forced. And then Brock might _really_ have a few problems walking, too. Brock dressed quickly, not letting Rogers see the tattoo that stretched across his hips. How exactly was he going to explain "HYDRA'S WHORE"? Brock never got it removed, mostly because he was pretty sure that Pierce would throw a fit if he did.

Brock left a note on the counter, "borrowed" a six pack, and walked home. It wasn't _quite_ the walk of shame, but he was going to act like it. Brock slipped into the quarters he shared with Jack Rollins and spent the next five minutes writing "PROPERTY OF BROCK RUMLOW" across the tops in big, bold letters. It wouldn't stop Jack from taking one or two of them, but it would at least give Brock a reason to bitch. He scattered his clothing on the floor and took a shower. Rogers was going to find the underwear Brock left under his couch. Maybe. Brock hoped not. He wasn't looking forwards to explaining _why_ he didn't have underwear for the day, but it was better than having to give a blowjob to Pierce's pistol.

Lately, the guy had been talking to this wolf breeder known as Sergei. There was something in the mix about him buying this wolf named Satan. As much as Brock liked to pretend that Jack actually cared about him, he knew that wasn't the case. Jack would do what he was told and if that meant torturing Brock, he would torture Brock. Order through pain and all that shit. Personally, Brock had stopped caring back in '96. He would do what he had to do, smile at all the right times, and act like he was a little bitch if that was what the need required. Honestly, he was pretty sure that Pierce wouldn't care if he begged the man to stop. Bastard might even get off on it. Brock knew from experience that getting Pierce off took for-fucking-_ever_ and when he did come, apparently it didn't feel that great.

Getting hit, Brock could take. Getting hit with a diamond ring? That sucked ass.

Brock hummed as he got out and toweled off. He wandered around the little apartment naked, debating if he should find pants or not. He'd slept better than he usually did, so a nap was out of the question. He wasn't tired and he needed something to do. Brock was feeling a bit too lazy to go find his pants, so going to the range was out of the question. Maybe he could find Winter and introduce him to Mario Kart? Brock wasn't a fan of shoot em ups, mostly because that was his life, but playing video games was a good way of relieving stress. That decided, he got up and ambled to his kitchen.

"Hey! Warn a guy, will you?!"

"What are you doing here?!" Brock jumped back and gave Clint Barton the dirtiest glare he could manage. "Why the_ hell_ are you in my kitchen and drinking my beer!" He looked around and cursed, trying to grab something to cover up his dick.

"I was looking for you?" Barton took a step back and whistled. "What did you do, step on a landmine?"

"Got caught in razor wire." Brock growled under his breath and put the island between them. The tile was cool under his bare feet, something that normally felt great, but he hated right now. Brock took a deep breath. "I need you to get the fuck out of my kitchen until I can put some pants on. And next time fucking _knock_!" Brock didn't flush, but he was getting irritated. He tried to ignore Barton's obvious interest. If he was sent to get into the archer's pants, he probably wouldn't be as hale and hearty as he was right now. Barton _bit_.

"I mean..." Barton looked around. "You know, Sitwell has been talking about you, right?"

"Sitwell is going to get his ass kicked," Brock growled. "And you need to get the fuck out of my kitchen."

"Nuh uh." Barton stalked forwards and grabbed his chin. He had an inch on Brock and though he was leaner, he had an odd sort of strength that Brock couldn't quite match. He could take Barton in a fight, yes, but it was when your back was turned that you had to watch out. "See, a little birdie told me that you were interested in Cap. And seeing as you fucked your way to STRIKE commander, I just want you to know that you won't get on the Avenger's team. Sorry, Rummy."

Brock growled and slammed an elbow in his gut. "If only you _knew_," Brock hissed. He thought about killing the man, but that might blow his cover. Barton laughed and did something that flipped them both. Barton forced Brock down and grabbed a hank of hair. The next thing Brock knew, there was a jagged knife at his throat. The weapon smelled and he could see the dark, bruised color of poisoned metal. Brock growled and tried to throw him, but Barton wouldn't let him move. "Get _off_, asswipe!"

"You know, Loki taught me a few things," Barton drawled. "You're not the only one of HYDRA's fuck ups to see the light of day. I'm you, but _better_."

"You wish." Brock forced Barton off and gave his... what the fuck was he? Fellow science experiment? a dark look. They might not have shared any genetic material, but the archer was always the charming one. Barton might have gotten out of HYDRA by sucking up to Tony Stark and he swallowed the lie that Brock did the same with Fury. Barton had always been the unstable one. "Go back to bothering Stark for handjobs and let me put some pants on so I can call my _boyfriend_."

Barton growled low. "You don't need pants for that,_ bitch_."

"If Stark wouldn't kill me, I would snap your neck for that," Brock growled. He stood up and walked away, leaving Barton to follow in his wake. He whistled the lyrics to "The Devil's Reach", knowing that it would drive Barton mad, and he smirked when he heard the door slam.

Now. Where was he...


	3. Chapter 3

Brock learned a lesson. Playing Mario Kart with the Winter Soldier wasn't the best idea in the world. Playing Mario Kart and drinking beer with him was an even_ worse_ idea. Winter was much too competitive and when he lost, he got pissy. Brock didn't care and he was looking to get drunk so he wouldn't think about what he had to do. He didn't want to get with Rogers. However, he really didn't have that much of a choice. If Pierce wanted it, Pierce got it. That meant he was going to have to take Captain America up the ass. Oh the joy. Brock _really_ wasn't looking forwards to that. It took him for freaking ever to get ready for Winter and Pierce never really let him get ready.

He usually wound up using his mouth on Pierce, so maybe he didn't need the lube he had by his chair.

Brock looked up as yet_ another_ person walked into the apartment like he owned the place. "Use the goddam _doorbell_, Rollins!" He took another swig of beer and started teaching Winter how to_ really_ kick ass in video games. He ignored the man walking around the place and shrugged off the cold hand that draped over his shoulder. "Dammit, Jack! You stick your hands in a fucking _freezer_ or something?! I'm gonna need a shirt before you freeze my nips off!"

"Is that how you speak to your betters?" a cold, dry voice said. Brock swore under his breath and looked up. He swallowed some, trying to figure out how to word this one. Well then. He was royally _fucked_. He shrugged some and saved the game before he looked up. Alexander Pierce sat down and casually kicked Winter down to the floor. Winter took one look at the head of HYDRA before he fucked right off. Not that Brock blamed him - he'd be doing the same thing if he could. Pierce drew Brock down into a kiss and nipped him some. He drew blood and smirked as he sucked it out. Brock just took it, knowing full well that there was no way he could get Pierce away from him.

"Thought you were Jack," Brock mumbled. He looked up with lidded eyes and tried to ignore the hand that curved over his chest. Brock squirmed some, not liking how sensitive his body actually _was_. There was no telling what exactly was in his genetic code. Maybe there was a reason why he took those little white pills with every meal. Brock swallowed some and opened his mouth obediently. He let Pierce kiss him, hating how his dry lips raked over Brock's mouth or how bad he tasted. Like moth balls or some shit. Did Pierce lick that shit? Could you actually get high off of moth balls? Brock needed to try that one of these days. He groaned some and whined when Pierce's hands dropped just a little lower.

"Is that the way you talk to Jack?" Pierce softly asked. He shook his head and cupped Brock's junk through his sweatpants. He squirmed some, not liking his balls being handled by a man who liked to torture prisoners. "After he saved you from freezing to death in a snowbank?" He laughed softly, shaking his head as Brock squirmed and tried to get away, just a little. "I just wish we found those files on you. Why don't we see just what they did to you, hmm? Seeing as my lovely wife can't give me another son..."

Brock swore under his breath. He _really_ did not want to go that route. "I think that was just bullshit Jakobson told you to sweeten the deal," he mumbled. Brock looked down and only looked up when Pierce pulled his head up to look at him. He shrugged some and tried not to cringe. "For what it's worth, I don't know. I never tested the theory out."

"One of these days, that's exactly what I'm going to do," Pierce muttered. He pulled Brock into his lap and stroked down his dick. Brock squirmed and arched his back up. He hated this, but his body _loved_ it. He started stiffening against the man's hands and Pierce kissed into Brock's neck. Pierce murmured things into his ears and Brock felt his skin crawl. He _hated_ it. Pierce kept stroking him, coaxing him towards the climax. Brock dug his nails into the couch, cursing himself for getting off on this. He didn't like it, but he did what Pierce wanted him too. He kissed the man when bade too and let Pierce put a dry finger up his ass. Pierce didn't actually take him dry anymore. Rogers didn't like bloody seconds and besides, Brock had to walk tomorrow.

Brock slid off as soon as he could and knelt at Pierce's lap. He pulled the man's fly open with his teeth and pulled him out. He didn't use his hands, like Pierce liked, and he made sure to go slow. At this point, Brock could write a damn book on sucking dick. He knew exactly what Pierce liked, but tonight he didn't seem to be interested in getting off quickly and going off to harass someone else. Nope, it seemed like he wanted to watch goddam_ Fox News_ while Brock held his cock in his mouth. Well, okay, Brock could do that. He'd warmed cock before. He just didn't like to listen to the fascist news network, that was all. He tried to ignore the hand in his hair or how hard he actually was.

His body could wait until fucking Pierce was gone. Brock mostly managed to tune out the droning anchors and mentally went through his weapons catalogue. He needed to request more ammunition and some of those energy drinks that Sitwell liked so much. He wasn't exactly paying attention to the petting or even the cock in his mouth. Pierce might have rolled his hips every so often, but otherwise, Pierce just left him alone. Brock was honestly okay with that. He could deal with his own needs never, as he didn't deserve the pleasure of orgasm, and Brock was actually okay with that. As long as they didn't force him to come when they fucked him, Brock was alright with that.

"I remember when they didn't have this sort of thing," Pierce softly said. "When Operation Insight takes off, the liberal news will be the first thing to go. I think I'll send the Winter Soldier to do that. And you," he grinned, dropping his hands down to go through Brock's thick, dark hair, "will be my pampered pet. That's why Director Johannes made you, right?"

Brock rolled his eyes a little bit. He couldn't exactly talk with dick in his mouth, but he was much relieved when Pierce turned the channel to something about Richard the Third and how maybe he wasn't such a twisted monster history said he was. Brock knew what a twisted monster was - and he was it. He ran his tongue under Pierce's dick and smiled when he heard the man draw in a sharp breath. Brock kept going, knowing he was starting to get harder and harder. So he got off on this. So he was fucked in the head. Brock didn't care. He kept going and knew the man was getting closer when he groaned and tugged in Brock's hair just a little bit more.

Pierce came in his mouth and Brock swallowed what he was given. He settled back on his heels, watching Pierce like a hawk. He didn't much like the man, but he also didn't like being a lab rat in Serbia. Brock watched Pierce through lidded eyes, not flinching when the man kept on stroking his nipples or when he started drinking Brock's half empty beer. Well, Brock could get more. He could always go back to Captain Oblivious and whore himself out there. He didn't know if Rogers knew his story or not. Maybe that was how he would explain the HYDRA'S WHORE tattoo. He could explain the other ones as drunken bad ideas, though he didn't exactly get drunk.

He drank beer because he liked the taste, not because it got him drunk.

"Am I allowed to smoke?" Brock blurted out. He wanted his fucking smokes, thank you very much. Pierce had told him that he wasn't allowed (something something destroying his lungs something), but he really needed the nicotine right about now. Or anything to get Pierce out of his mouth.

"No, little pet," Pierce softly said. He petted Brock's hair and made him curl up on the couch beside him. Brock tolerated it, but he wasn't that fond of what he was doing right about now. "I don't want you to destroy your special parts, hypothetical or not." He smirked and made Brock kiss him again. The kissing was alright. Brock liked it better than warming Pierce's cock. "You better get used to this, little one. After all, once Project Insight is over... this is going to be your life."

Brock felt like he wanted to gag.


	4. Chapter 4

Brock wasn't looking forwards to going on a mission with Rogers and the rest of the STRIKE team. Everyone _but_ Rogers knew what he was and how he'd been made. Brock was used to the comments and even the things that they had done to him. Murphy had tossed a box of condemns in his bedroll. Mercer and her friends had left abortion pills in his footlocker more than once. Sitwell liked to grab his ass - and he only stopped when Brock broke his cheek. Brock swung a wicked right hook and he wasn't above throwing a haymaker if he had too. He was pretty sure that no one would do anything untoward if Rogers was there and that did give him some measure of relief.

He would take the break if he could get it. Brock was pretty sure that he was just leader in name only. Though he had a good head for strategy, he had still been made for some rich general to use as a fuck toy. The others wouldn't ever let him forget that. Brock tried not to think about the lab that he came from, but it was hard. He didn't like the bright hospital white and somethings the smell of antiseptics sent him into what had to be flashbacks. PTSD was for humans, though, and Brock was barely human. He might _look_ like a man, but he wasn't, not really. Brock was one step above a woman and he had to wear protection if anyone was going to fuck him. The Winter Soldier, of course, never did that, but that was just because he was Winter.

Brock squatted beside the man and offered him the other half of his sandwich. "You like this shit?" he drawled. Brock drank the rest of his water and watched as Winter wolfed the dry sandwich down. He rolled his eyes. Trust old Freezerburn to like white bread, turkey, and American cheese. "You are one weird guy, you know that? You're the only one who actually _likes_ that likes that stuff!"

Sitwell looked over at him and snorted. "It's more of a man than you are." He snatched the rest of Brock's lunch and rolled an eye. "Really? Where the hell did you get this shit?"

"The fridge." Brock grabbed it back and stuffed the rest in his mouth. He gave Sitwell a dark look. Winter whined some. It was pretty sure that he wanted more of Brock's food, but Brock didn't have enough food to share. He tried to ignore the hurt blue eyes, instead focusing on the maps. As soon as he got done with this mission, he was going back to Rogers so he could lead an assault against a crew of pirates. Brock wasn't looking forwards to that one. He went back to messing with the movements and trying to get more information on their enemies. This group was a group of ethno-nationalists that had taken up in the Saint Mary Mountains. It was going to be _hell_ getting them out.

This group called themselves the Sword of Christ. They had the same ideals that every single idiot had before them - stave off the white genocide, get rid of immigrants, yadda yadda _ya_. It was safe to say that Brock was less than impressed. They might have taken over an old military base out in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, but they were still a pack of fools that were about to get killed. He wasn't going to go into this blind, though, and he didn't like it very much as it was. He looked up some and bit his bottom lip. There was a lot that could go wrong. Brock wondered if the weather would still help out with it. He brushed through his new hair cut, smiling as he felt the brutally short sides and the front that he'd spiked up.

Yeah, he liked it. He'd also done it himself after watching several YouTube videos. Pierce was going to flip his shit but Brock was finding it hard to care.

"Love the hack job." Mercer grabbed an energy drink and rolled her eyes. She moved to ruffle up his hair, but Brock growled low and she jerked back. Yeah, he bit. Several STRIKE members had learned that one the hard way. "You don't have to act like a fucking bitch over it."

"Takes one to know one," Brock muttered. He stood up after a few minutes and turned off his phone. He needed to find Rollins. Rollins actually listened to him, unlike most, and he was needing to use that right about now. He walked through the rough camp, looking for Rollins. He might not have liked the man, but he was willing to sit there and talk to him. He found Rollins on a tree stump, reading something off his phone. "Jack. We need to talk."

"If you hit someone, don't come crying to me," Jack muttered. He looked up some and shook his head. "What do you want?"

"The strategy sucks ass." Brock sat down and called up the hologram. He ignored the Winter Soldier, only to swat his hand when he tried to search Brock's pockets for candies. "Knock it off, will ya? I'm trying not to get us all killed." He rolled his eyes and started going through all the ways that the strategy was fucked. They were too exposed, for one, and for another, he was pretty sure that the militants had a bazooka. Now the Winter Soldier might be able to survive a bazooka strike, but no one else would be able to do that. "We gotta get a better guy doing our strategy for us. I don't wanna wind up dying out here."

"More like you need to keep your mouth shut," Jack murmured. He drew Brock close and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Brock stiffened, but he allowed the contact. He didn't_ like_ it. There was a lot that he didn't like, though, and no one else ever listened to what he liked anyways. Brock let Rollins kiss him. He didn't allow much else. Rollins wanted him to go all the way, but Brock managed to keep him off. Rollins wouldn't actually push him. That might have been because he had Winter with him. The last person who tried to rape Brock (beyond Pierce) wound up in the morgue. After that, Winter started trailing Brock pretty closely. Brock was thankful, but there was little he could do to thank the man.

The invasion went... interesting. Three of the newbies wound up dead. Mercer got shot in the leg (Brock might have had a hand in that), Winter broke a finger, and Brock himself was creased twice. He would heal by the next day, though it stung like a bitch. Brock helped with the cleanup. They made sure to burn the bodies so the rest of the idiot wouldn't have remains to build a cult around. As a final fuck you, they torched the rest of the base. Brock was also right about the bazooka - but the militants were too stupid to know how to use it right. The five idiots who tried to use it wound up dying. Brock couldn't say that he felt sorry, but he was happy that they spared him the trouble of killing them.

His head hurt. Brock sat by himself on the trip back. Well, mostly. He shared a beer with Winter and wrinkled his nose at the taste. He was clearly becoming spoilt, if he didn't like the way the beer tasted. He should be happy to be getting food at all. Complaining about the beer meant that he was getting used to his station. He needed to remember that he could lose this at any second. No one seemed to mention that he had lead point or that he'd killed the second most rebels. Brock was used to that, though. He did what he was told and if he didn't like it, well, he could go back to Serbia. Brock would rather _not_ do that. So he put up and shut up, even though it galled him.

Rogers was waiting when he got back to base. Brock offered the man a smile and he didn't protest when Rogers pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He kissed Rogers like he was supposed too and groaned some.

"I missed you," Rogers growled.

"Yeah," Brock breathed. "I missed you, too." He nuzzled up Rogers' neck, knowing that he was about to actually do it. He was off his medication and something in his body was making him want to jump Rogers' bones. His mind might not have liked it, but Brock was willing to ignore it. "I wanna show you just how much I missed you. We got what? Twenty four hours?"

Rogers swallowed and gripped his hips a little more. "My place. Ten minutes."

"Alright." Brock gave Rogers one last kiss and drew back. His skin felt like it was trying to crawl off of him and Brock tried not to think about Winter. So this was it. He was actually going to do this thing.

Maybe Rogers would let him walk tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Brock curled up on Rogers' chest and didn't move for several long, glorious moments. He didn't get a lot of skin on skin contact as it was. Rollins had warmed him up with a hair dryer and a hot bath. Pierce tossed him extreme weather gear and told him that for a Serbian, he was more fucked up than he was before. Brock looked over his tanned skin, knowing that Pierce said he should have been lighter and blonde, with light eyes, not Brock's thick, black hair and dark brown eyes. He couldn't help his looks, though, and Brock didn't trust the skin bleaching creams they sold. It sounded too Victorian for him. Maybe Rollins was right - maybe he shouldn't be watching those docu-dramas about life in Victorian England.

Rogers was a big man. He might have had a narrow waist, but his chest was big and his legs were bigger. The man was also hung like a horse, something that Brock's poor ass was now starting to feel. It wasn't as bad as having to "perform" with Winter, though, so he didn't feel like he could complain. Rogers had a hand around Brock's hips and every so often, he started rubbing Brock's back. Right over the tattoo, which Brock _loved_, but it wasn't his place to say anything. Did he like his body being hijacked to serve HYDRA? Not exactly. Did he have that much of a choice? Not really. So Brock just did what he was told and tried to bribe Pierce into getting him actual paperwork.

He wasn't actually an American citizen - in fact, Brock was pretty sure that he would be considered an illegal alien. Pierce had even threatened to turn him into ICE if he really angered the other man. Brock didn't want to wind up in one of the concentration camps near the border, as it reminded him too much of the lab he'd come from, so he did his best to keep Pierce happy. It wasn't the easiest job ever, but Brock had to do it. That meant he did what he was told, no matter his personal feelings on the subject. The others could always disobey unlawful orders (and did), but Brock _couldn't_. If that meant that he had to let Captain America fuck him, Brock needed to lie back and think of HYDRA.

"Do you know what that says?" Rogers softly asked. There was concern in his blue eyes, but Brock turned his head when Rogers kissed him again. Brock wasn't in the mood for round three. "I don't read Cyrillic, but Mercer said that you do. Is there a reason, or...?"

"It's nothing good," Brock mumbled. He offered Rogers a crooked smile. "I spent six months in a Serbian POW camp. Got the tattoo from one of the guards. I kept it to remind me never to get caught again - if they wanna catch me, they have to kill me." That wasn't the whole story, of course, but Rogers didn't need to know that. "It loosely translates to 'American Whore', if you must know." Brock also didn't like lasers and removing tattoos hurt like a bitch. "I got the others because I could. The Celtic cross was a drunk idea. The barbed wire came after Desert Storm. I got the hell hound across my shoulders for the hell of it."

And because he was a beast that performed orders, but Rogers didn't need to know that.

"I wish I could get tattoos," Rogers sighed. He ruffled up his hair and gave Brock a crooked smile. "You know? I love the hair. It's you."

"Thanks. I did it myself." Brock stood up, enjoying the stretch like a large cat, and allowed Rogers to kiss him again. He padded to the kitchen and tried to ignore the big man behind him. He had a bit of a hard time with that, as Brock had learned the hard way to watch his back. The mission was going to be a hard one. Brock's gait was a little off and he knew that could get him killed if he wasn't careful. Brock did twist around, though, and press a kiss to Rogers' cheek as he searched around for something to eat. He liked food that wasn't absolutely terrible, like the nasty sandwiches he was used to getting, and he made a happy sound when he rescued what looked like leftover spaghetti from the back of the fridge.

"I can't cook," Rogers mumbled. "That's at least a week old, you know."

"It looks fine to me." Brock settled back. "And I wouldn't expect you to be able to cook, old man." He shrugged some and checked his phone. No one had called and gotten him out of this one, but he did have a message from Clint. Clint wanted to know why the locks were changed and why Brock had welded locks on the air vents. He deleted the message, shoving his annoying batch brother out of his mind for a few minutes. Brock sat on the counter to eat, gleefully aware that Rogers was going to have to clean this up later. His naked ass had had all sorts of things in it that he was pretty sure Rogers wouldn't want to have touching his food. And for one, Brock didn't quite care that he was going to get it later.

"So, the mission." Rogers looked at his tablet and frowned some. "Pirates, really?"

"This time you gotta use a fucking parachute. Of you break your neck doing something like that, I'm _not_ getting myself killed by Pierce, Fury, and Tony Stark," Brock growled. He gave Rogers a dark look. "I don't know how things were in the forties, but here we have_ laws_." That didn't apply to Brock. "So I expect that you follow them."

Rogers shook his head. "I'll try."

"And if you don't, I'll have you stuck topside for a week," Brock snapped. He slid off the counter and grabbed his pants from where they'd fallen. "Mind if I use your shower?" He ducked in before Rogers could say anything and tried to quell the raising fear.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock felt like utter shit. This wasn't something new for him, not at all, but that didn't mean that Brock enjoyed feeling bad. He mentally checked through what he'd been eating. It wasn't anything bad. He'd been eating mostly vegetables and a little meat, with less bread. It was ironic that Brock's diet was actually based on what the Soviets gave one of their _other_ super soldiers. Yes, Winter wasn't the only one. There used to be something called the Winter Guard and apparently one of the other ones had had a pretty narrow diet that he was given. Brock did cheat with his. The sandwiches and the pizza weren't going to kill him. They might make his stomach feel a touch upset, but they weren't going to kill him.

The man groaned some and threw up. He'd been sexually active with Rogers for well over two months now and he wondered if those stories weren't actually stories. Brock rested his head back on the cool tile, cursing under his breath. Well, he was really and truly fucked, wasn't he? The smart thing to do would be run to Pierce, but Brock was rather liking having the others off of him. He had to endure sucking Pierce off, but that was nothing new. As much as Brock liked Winter, he had to admit that it was nice to have the Winter Soldier off of him. If that meant that Winter had to rub one off, that was perfectly fine by Brock. He might be petty as hell. He might also be tired and possibly having some sort of little invader in his body.

It wasn't like he could just pee on a stick without someone knowing. He didn't even have that much money and as far as the clerks knew, he was the wrong gender to need one. Brock vaguely knew that he was considered handsome by some standards, but he still was pretty sure he couldn't just walk up and buy a test. Brock also knew that the STRIKE Amazon account was pretty fairly restricted, so that option was out, too. If Brock had too, he might borrow Steve's account and pay him back somehow. Brock was pretty sure that the Captain wouldn't even check his account and there was also a pretty good chance that Steve didn't even _have_ an account. Brock swore under his breath as he realized just how fucked he was.

Steve knocked on the door. "Hey, Brock? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Brock managed. He rested his head back and took a shuddering breath. So. He was going to have to give up the beer and grog, wasn't he? He was pretty sure that he could get away with that one because he'd just been banned from smoking. "Stomach's just a bit upset. Nerves, I think." Nerves because he was about to tangle with Tom Cutter yet _again_. Didn't that damn pirate ever get bored? Didn't he have something better to do than just harass innocent STRIKE members? Brock sighed under his breath as he forced himself to get up. This just wasn't going to be fun.

Steve caught him as he came out of the bathroom. "Brock? Are you okay? What's going on?" He thumbed at Brock's tears and frowned some. The man sighed some and stroked over Brock's shoulders. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Brock mumbled. He hugged himself and looked down. It was an old instinct, the one to hide himself and curl up so no one could hurt him. Brock was fighting it off now, but he knew how he was coming off. He swallowed, trying to figure out how he could save this. Steve was his boyfriend. He wasn't supposed to hide things from his boyfriend, if the internet was to be believed. However, Steve couldn't know that Brock was HYDRA. "Just got sick and had a flashback. It sucks."

"Yeah, PTSD is awful." Steve gathered Brock up and carried him to the couch. "You look terrible, you know. All pale and ghastly." He shook his head, blonde hair going everywhere. The man bit his bottom lip some, his blue eyes worried. He looked so much like Winter that Brock almost called him that. He fought with some new instinct, too. An instinct that told him that he needed to ingratiate himself with his... sperm donor? Baby daddy? What the hell was he _supposed_ to call Steve? He shook his head some and looked up with pained, dark eyes. He sighed some, knowing that he was supposed to act like everything was normal. Like there wasn't a very real possibility that he, a man as far as he knew, was _pregnant_.

"I just feel bad," Brock whispered. He looked up and held up his arms. "Hold me? Touch me? Please?" Dammit, he wasn't supposed to be like this! He was STRIKE commander! He was supposed to be big and strong and nothing like this.

Steve nodded and rested the man close to him. Steve was big and warm against him. Brock couldn't help himself, he just curled his body in on Steve's. His belly pressed between them and maybe Steve knew something, because he rested his hand over it. Brock forced himself to hold still as Steve gave him a belly rub. He had to admit that Captain America was a pretty good nurse. Brock tried to keep himself calm, but he _hated_ this. He hated having a body caging him in and he hated being touched like this. Brock was pretty sure that Steve wasn't going to expect anything sexual from him, but he had to give the man something. Brock coughed some and swallowed.

"You need to rest," Steve softly said. He kissed Brock's cheek softly, his eyes so soft and worried for him. Brock didn't know how to take this. He didn't know what to expect, but he knew it was nothing good. He whimpered some, expecting those soft blue eyes to flash with rage. He expected those hands to slap him upside the head, to toss him down and kick him. Brock tried not to curl up too much, but it was hard. He swallowed again and ducked his head. What was he supposed to do? Only lead the team on milk runs? Retire? Brock had no idea what they would want him to do or if he needed to find some place that could keep his mouth shut. If not, he could shoot the guy.

"Please don't leave me," Brock whispered. "Please, no matter what, don't leave me."

"I won't." Steve rocked him close and rested his head back. "Brock? What's wrong?" Going by the tone of his voice, Brock was pretty sure that Steve thought that he was having another PTSD episode. Brock shuddered some and cried out. He arched his back, screamed, and started shaking. Steve cursed softly and held Brock close to him. Brock had no idea what he was saying, but then he hit a_ real_ episode and Brock screamed like he was being stabbed. He yelled something in Serbian and started clawing at Steve. The man yelled something and held him, but Brock only saw the man who raped him over and over and over again. He cried out and collapsed down on the carpet.

"Brock! Brock!" Steve tried to pick him up, but Brock screamed and twisted. He sunk his teeth into Steve's arm, screaming and cursing about how he was not raking it up the ass anymore. "Brock! Dammit!"

It took him maybe thirty minutes, but Brock came out of it. He went completely limp in Steve's arms. He knew his face was streaked with tears and mucus and his voice was hoarse from screaming. He let Steve hold him some as his blood ran cold. Brock just hoped that Steve couldn't speak Serbian. If Steve did, then Brock was fucked, literally _and_ figuratively.


	7. Chapter 7

Brock tried to keep away from the HYDRA techs and medics. Mostly because they looked at his body with something akin to barely restrained glee. It was like they wanted to vivisect him and if they ever got the greenlight, Brock knew he'd be chained to the cold, steel tables before he could even_ think_ about fighting. Yeah, Brock didn't want to go there. He might have hated his life, but he didn't want to die in screaming agony. If he wanted to off himself, he'd eat a pistol. Brock fingered his own handgun, feeling the weight of it in his hands. That little piece of steel and plastic gave him a power that couldn't easily be yanked away. He just wasn't brave enough to use it, that was all.

He rested back on the couch, listening to Tony Stark babble on. He'd been shot by one of the pirates and the bullet had destroyed a chunk of muscle big enough to make a burger. Brock shuddered as he thought about it. He'd had to smell his own meat once, pressed against a searing metal surface. He eyed his left hand, his keen eyes running over the barely visible scars. His left hand was stiffer than his right even now. It was his fault, though, that his Master had to do him like this. If he'd obeyed and used his right hand like he was told, this wouldn't have happened to him. Brock shook his head some, trying to pull his mind out of the gutter. The past was the past. There was nothing he could do to change it.

Barton dropped beside him and smirked. "You're losing your touch, old man."

"Fuck off." Brock gave Barton a nasty look. He didn't dare kick him, as that would cause a stir and he might be punished for striking an Avenger. Brock didn't want to be punished if he could help it. "I had a bad day, bird brain. It happens. Now fuck off before I decide to fuck up _your_ arms." It was a hollow threat and they both knew it, but the other Avengers wouldn't.

Steve cleared his throat. "Hey, Brock? Clint? Why don't we try to handle this like adults instead of insulting each other like children?" He gave both of them a gentle smile and pulled Brock close to him. Brock pressed close to him and closed his eyes. He liked how warm it was. How safe he felt. He knew that he wasn't safe, though. No one was ever truly safe from HYDRA. He might have been held by Captain America, but that didn't mean anything. He let his eyes run over the holograms, over everything that glowed and sparkled in the bright light. Everything was a smooth chrome and white. It looked very industrial and clean, even down to the levitating table that Stark had designed.

Brock glanced down at Steve's pistol. It was brand new Stark tech. Some kind of laser gun, modeled after the guys STRIKE had fought a few years ago. They weren't truly awful. Mostly pirates and raiders, what else was new, but they were from Andromeda and they had nearly defeated the Avengers in open combat. Of course, the guys from Andromeda, didn't fight fair. They used what turned out to be dirty bomb and nearly took out San Antonio. The Mayor had been forced to call in the Avengers, even though he was some preacher type that called STRIKE the devil's spawn. Brock hated to admit it, but the crazy old fundie wasn't that far from the truth. For a second, Brock thought about grabbing the pistol and taking out Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Widow he might have a problem with. Barton would be a fucking_ pleasure_. Brock was pretty sure that he might spare Steve, if only because the guy was kind to him. Brock shook his head some and tried not to laugh. As if he had a choice in who he got to kill or not. He was nothing but a slave and the sooner he drilled that into his head, the better off he'd be. The dark haired man squirmed some. He could feel that Steve was hard under him, but the super soldier did nothing. He didn't grab Brock. He didn't try to force Brock, pin him over the table and fuck him until his ass bled. Brock shuddered some and grabbed the bigger man. He didn't like this, but there was nothing he could do.

Stark cleared his throat. "Hey, Rogers? Mind letting Rummy up? I don't think he likes being in your lap."

Steve started and helped Brock up. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know..." He hung his head some and swallowed. Brock pulled back from him and tried not to slip into another flash back. He mumbled something in Serbian and pulled away. His shoulder burned like it was being branded again and he could hear a man snarling at him to go down on all fours. Brock did and he didn't understand when someone tried to pull him up. He cried out again, his eyes wide open, but he couldn't see anything. Brock didn't know what they wanted and as soon as Master wasn't touching him, he curled up and held himself.

Someone knelt in front of him. "Hey, you alright?" He had rough hands and smelled lightly of motor oil, but there was nothing harsh about him. "PTSD sucks, I know. And I get the feeling those painkillers they have on you on makes it worse. Ya know, you can tell us when you start to feel uncomfortable. Just because you and Rogers are doin' stuff doesn't mean that you haveta left him do what he wants, you know."

Brock blinked some. He raised his head weakly and tried not to cringe. "W-what are you doing?"

Tony Fucking Stark helped Brock up and let the man pull away. "I know what painkillers do with PTSD, trust me. If you need some weed or something like that, let me know, alright? Sometimes that shit's better than getting all those drugs in your system."

"I just quit smoking, please don't tempt me." Brock fought to look Stark in his warm, dark brown eyes. He tried to shake the fear off, but he couldn't. It was too real, too strong, and he was still too close to the action, all these years later. Brock held himself some. He tried to slip out, but it was hard and he was nervous. He knew Barton spoke Serbian. He just hoped that Widow didn't, because he probably said some things that he didn't want getting out.

Barton cornered him as soon as he left the meeting room. "You're _still_ talking about that bastard? Can't you just get over yourself already?"

"I try," Brock growled. He shoved Barton aside and gave him a nasty snarl. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to report to Pierce. Fuck_ off_." Brock held his head high as he walked to the waiting elevator. He knew Pierce was going to be pissed, but damn him, he'd done the best he could.

Not that it would matter very much.


	8. Chapter 8

Brock quietly drew away from the Soldier as he walked down the brightly lit hallways. He kicked the worn and scuffled floors, wondering how much asbestos was locked in the tiles. Going by the sickly green color, he was going to bet there was quiet a lot. The tiles were coming up in places and some were almost black from the scuffs. The harsh sodium light cast a sickly light all over the hall. It made Brock look like he was far paler than he actually was and bleached his glossy black hair into something ashy grey. Brock shuddered some. He looked like something that was half dead and half alive. A mooncalf, if he was going by the books he'd read. Brock knew he was a monstrosity. He wasn't a man, much less a woman.

He was a freak, that was all. He was a freak and it would do him well to remember his place.

Winter cocked his head and pressed closer. Brock forced himself to stay still. He didn't think that Winter wanted anything, but one never could be very sure. Winter nuzzled his neck, his fingers trailing over Brock's waist and belt. His fingers were rough, calloused, far rougher than Brock's hands. No one had shaved the Soldier in several days, so his stubble brushed over Brock's skin and made him draw back. Brock himself shaved. His old masters had insisted that he shave his body and wearing tactical gear meant that he often had to shave his body hair so he wouldn't wind up with nasty ingrown hairs. He didn't enjoy infections or carbuncles, thank you very much. If that meant that he had to shave, then he had to shave.

"Want you," Winter whispered. He cocked his head some and drew his fingers through Brock's hair. He fingered the strands some, an odd light in his blue eyes. "No more sharing. _Mine_."

"I wish I could do that," Brock softly said. He drew back as best he could, noting the anger in Winter's eyes. The Soldier didn't like it when Brock told him no. He _really_ didn't like it when Brock tried to pull away from him. What he seemed to want was Brock to be submitted to him, but Brock hated to say that he wasn't interested in that. If he had to pick, he was probably going to pick Rogers. He held up his arm, his eyes narrowed. "I got shot. I need to make a report to Pierce. You need to let me through before Pierce sends you to the Chair."

The Soldier growled, but he drew back. "Make you mine. For good. No more sharing, no more Pierce."

"Good luck with that," Brock drawled. He saluted the man and walked away. He was very tired, but there wasn't anything else he could do. He was in pain, the drugs were wearing off, and he had to submit himself to the man who had made his life hell. He rubbed his face as he climbed the levels. This elevator was a slow one, but it got the job done. Pierce would be waiting on him in the penthouse office. Brock's blood ran cold as he thought about it. He traced the scar on his hand, finding a bit of comfort in the old wounds. He'd survived getting fucked before. He'd survived getting fucked raw and fucked bloody. Pierce wasn't all that creative. He liked Brock on his back and it was a once and done.

Most of the time, the old man didn't even make Brock strip. Brock was willing to thank the gods for small mercies and he wasn't going to fight. Making it worse was the last thing he needed right now. Brock tried to keep his hands from shaking. He didn't want to meet Pierce. He felt so small and insignificant as he walked through the new hall. He was walking over marble rather than asbestos and tasteful art covered the tan walls. Some of the offices had golden lettering on them and the windows were stained glass rather than poured sheets. The lighting, too, was different. It was a sort of diffused light and Brock thought he looked rather golden now.

He liked color. Sue him. Or fuck him, because it didn't matter which one.

Brock ran his thumb over the scanner and folded his hands behind his back. His arm burned some and he grunted, but he took the pain. There was nothing else he could do. Pierce took his time to get out there. Brock could hear him knocking around in there, but he made no move to come and see Brock. The man hung his head in shame. He knew he was going to get it. The only question was how bad was it going to be. Would he be caned or simply forced to pleasure his master for a few hours? Brock was hoping it was the first one, but he'd never had a choice. He understood what it was like to never have a choice. He might not have liked it, but there was nothing he could do.

Pierce opened the door and looked Brock up and down. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat has dragged in. At least you're owning up to your mistakes like a man. That's more than I can say for Rollins. If he isn't careful, he'll wind up just like you, or I'll give him to medical. I haven't decided yet. Now come inside."

Brock knelt as soon as the door closed. He lowered his head, careful not to look his betters in the eyes. He thought there was someone else, but he wasn't sure who it was. He swallowed some, his mouth suddenly dry. Pierce grabbed his head and gave Brock a wry look. Brock knew what he was supposed to do. He tried to keep calm, he really did. His mental health hadn't been all that great lately and he could feel the chills that came before a PTSD episode. Pierce yanked his head back and forced Brock's head towards his crotch. Brock undid the zipper with his teeth and swallowed Pierce down. He tasted bad, as he always did, and Brock let his mind drift. He could hear Pierce talking, but it was only a distant buzz, rather than anything he actually cared about.

Pierce stopped him before Brock got him off. "On the table. Because you really fucked up this time, you know."

Brock shuddered and obeyed. This was going to hurt. He'd had no prep and he was going to feel this tomorrow. The worst part was that he had an audience. Brock just closed his eyes and let it happen. If he gasped and cried, he gasped and cried. It was just a reaction to the pain. There wasn't any shame in crying out. At least, that was what Brock liked to think.


	9. Chapter 9

Brock sat, cross-legged, on the counter and massaged the shaving cream into Winter's face. The man squirmed some, clearly not enjoying the way the way the cream smelled or how it felt on his skin. Brock cooed softly to him. Thank the little gods for safety razors, that was all he was going to say. Brock quietly shaved Winter and trimmed up what he could of the man's hair. Winter jerked around during that - he still didn't like it when people tried to cut his hair. Brock didn't blame him. He hated it when he was forced to grow his hair out or when the other agents made him wear it in pigtails or something degrading like that. He knew what his body was - it didn't mean that he had to like it.

Winter growled and jerked his head back as soon as Brock was done. He ran a hand over his newly smoothed face, glowering some. "Don't like this. It makes my face feel funny."

"That's called shaving," Brock gently said. He smiled as best he could and slid off. Winter whined gently and stroked Brock's face. He didn't seem to understand that Brock shaved his own face. His legs, too. Brock wondered just how much Winter truly remembered and if his fragile mind could really take what was going on around him. Brock shook his head some. His hand strayed to an innocent package - something Jack had dropped off for him earlier. Brock was pretty sure he knew what it was. He didn't want to do it, but he needed too. He was getting sick at times and he couldn't stand certain smells. Brock just didn't want to pee on a stick. He didn't want to admit that he was a freak, something that shouldn't have been born.

Well, created. He'd never been born. Brock didn't count being spat out by a test tube as being born. He was made in a lab. He was something made by human hands, not made and perfected by nature. Winter... Winter was something else, though. He moved like a tiger, like he was one of Mitar's greatest creations, instead of made by a Nazi blitzed out on meth. If pressed, Brock would admit that he liked how Winter moved more than he liked Rogers. Rogers was too big, too heavy. He still didn't have the nimble strength that Winter did.

Brock swallowed some. "Can you leave, please?" he softly asked. He looked up and shook his head. His hands were shaking. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to pee on a stick and see if there was a monster growing in his belly. Brock pushed at Winter gently, asking him to go. He didn't want to use the words, even though he knew he'd have too. "Winter? Please?"

Winter growled low. "Don't wanna go."

"Please go," Brock asked. He rubbed a hand over his ace and managed to get him out of there. The bigger man did move. He wasn't happy about it, but he left Brock to his own devices. Brock sank down on the toilet. He had to do this. He had to look in the box and pee on the stick. Brock tried not to say anything, tried not to whimper, but he pulled the little box towards him. He opened it with shaking hands, noticing in some dim way that it was wrapped in discreetly. Jack did care about him. He didn't want to humiliate him in front of STRIKE. If Jack wanted too, he could get Brock to get down on his knees and give him a blowjob in front of anyone he wanted too.

Brock ripped the packaging and nearly dropped the test in the toilet. He swallowed, knowing that this was going to be bad. There was a tightness to his belly now, something that he hadn't felt before. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was a pregnancy. Brock didn't know, but he did know that he wouldn't like the results. He swallowed softly before he did the deed. He didn't think he could ever describe the feeling of sickness and dread that crept up his throat as he waited. Brock pinched his nose. He was less than nothing, he knew, but there was nothing more than he wanted than to be a_ man_. He didn't want this fear - he didn't want any of this. He didn't want to use his body to please Pierce's sick pleasures.

He screamed when he saw the two pink lines. Brock only knew that he'd thrown the test when he saw it clatter against the shower. His body shook as he sat there, knowing that he was going to be yanked from active duty and left to entice Rogers into doing something awful. Brock didn't know much about Project Insight, but he knew that they needed to get Rogers out of the way. What better way to control him than to hold his child over his head? Brock swallowed some and turned his head. He knew he was rocking back and forth, but he didn't care. He was crying, too, but he didn't care about that, either. Brock wiped his face some. He didn't say anything for a long time. He just lay, curled up on the bathroom floor, for who knew how long.

Someone knocked on the door. "Brock?" Jack called. "Brock! You alright?! Winter's out here losing his mind and I figured I'd come see you."

"Go away," Brock rasped. He rubbed his face and stood up. He knew he was looking bad, his face red and puffy, but there was nothing he could do. He splashed some water on his face and opened the door. Brock knew he looked miserable. "What do you _want_, Jack? There isn't anything you can do to make me feel any worse." He laughed bitterly. "If you want my ass, you can have that, too. The fucking stories were _true_."

Jack pulled Brock into a hug and stroked his back. "That's alright," he whispered. "It's Rogers' kid?"

"Yeah," Brock whispered back. He looked up and shook his head, not knowing what to do. "It's Rogers' kid. I... was only allowed to be with him." Brock almost melted into the embrace. He didn't know what else to do. He swallowed, touching his belly. He didn't like this. "I want it gone, Jack. I want it out of me right now! I want this _gone_!"

"I know you can't get rid of it," Jack mumbled. He helped Brock slide down the wall, holding the smaller man as Brock gathered every ounce of air into his lungs and just _screamed_. He punched the wall and his fist went straight through the sheet rock. Brock hit it again and again and _again_. Jack, to his credit, stayed there and let Brock have his little tantrum. Jack didn't say anything. He just stayed there, stroking Brock's hair as he could. The smaller, darker man was shaking in fear and anger. He wanted the _thing_ in him gone. He didn't want to have any part of this. He didn't want to do any of this, he wanted it gone, and he wanted to run away and never take it up the ass again.

"It's not fair," Brock whispered. He looked up, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. "It's not fair, Jack."

"I know." Jack leaned back some and eyed the wall. "I don't know how you're going to explain that one, you know."

"I'll blame it on Winter," Brock muttered. He hugged himself and swallowed. He knew that Winter would be tortured and he'd feel awful about this later, but he didn't care right now. He just sunk down and lay in Jack's arms. All he wanted to do was get out of this, but he knew none of this would ever happen. He was stuck with the monster in his belly, like it or not.

Rogers had better make this shit worth his while. Otherwise, there was no telling what he might do if things went south.


	10. Chapter 10

Brock woke up to concerned whines and nips all over his neck. There was a heavy weight over him and he could hear the quiet whine of servos. Brock just tried to pull the blanket over his shoulders. He didn't want to deal with Winter. He just _didn't_. He didn't have the energy to deal with this today. He knew that Winter was going to get punished for what he did. Brock knew he couldn't break the walls. That would be forgetting his place and he couldn't do that. As much as he might want to burn the place down, he couldn't do it. He picked himself up some, his dark eyes wounded as he looked over. Winter, he could tell, was worried. The Soldier crept closer to him and nuzzled him before dropping a hand to Brock's belly.

"But how?" The Asset looked up, his eyes clear for the first time in years. He usually looked like he was drugged but this time... he looked like he was sober. It was scary, being pinned down by that thousand yard stare. Winter splayed his flesh had over Brock's stomach and shook his head. It looked like he was wearing Jack's flannel sweats. Winter didn't even seem to understand that Brock didn't want to talk to him. "But you're a man... I know what a woman looks like... I know what _you_ look like..."

"Of all the things for you to remember..." Brock sighed. He rubbed his face and sat up as best he could. He was feeling a little sick right now. Brock twisted around some, looking around the small, brightly lit room. It was a warm grey color, full of blankets and pillows. Brock didn't even sleep in a bed. He'd been raped in enough beds that he didn't want to get in one unless he had too. He'd found a mattress, begged Jack into buying it for him, and managed to save enough pennies to buy a few pillows and blankets here and there. Winter seemed to think that the mattress being on the floor meant that he could just crawl in whenever he wanted. No matter how much Brock might fuss, Winter just did whatever.

"You can't stay here," Winter whispered. Brock shook his head. He didn't know what was going on. Winter was coherent. He was talking. His eyes were clear and he seemed to understand what was going on. "You have to go hide. They're gonna take you. They're gonna cut you up like they did the other one..." He swallowed and looked down. "I _like_ you."

Brock pushed himself up and rubbed his face. He didn't know what else he was going to do. He shook his head some and stroked the man's face. Already, he was getting more stubble. He was looking healthier and maybe they needed to watch how many treats Winter was getting. Winter moved closer to him. He wrapped his arms around Brock and just _held_ him. It was like he knew what to do and he was saying something softly that Brock couldn't quite hear. Rough fingers stroked down his back. Winter nuzzled over his ear and shook his head sadly. Brock swallowed. He didn't want to think about what had happened or whose finger would be on the button to take it all away.

"Why?" Brock rasped. He pressed his face into Winter's shoulder and closed his eyes. He could feel Winter scooping him up, but he felt bad enough that he just did not care. Brock nestled his body into Winter's and held on tight. Winter carried him out the apartment, going down the stairs, and into the Trisk proper. Brock didn't care who saw him. He was dressed. After Serbia and coming to America, Brock had stopped sleeping naked. After all, if he slept naked, it was his fault if he was fucked. Brock didn't quite like it when he was fucked dry or if he was sleeping and didn't get to at least _see_ whoever it was. Brock was a simple man. He liked his choices, as limited as they were, even though he was often overridden by his betters.

Winter seemed to know where they were going. The Trisk was huge - and it was a rabbit warren that needed to be mapped. Brock was vaguely aware that they were going deeper and deeper into the building and into a place where hardly anyone ever went. Water dripped from the pipes and streaked down the wall. It pooled in rusty, black slicked pools that reeked. Brock tried not to gag. Dust pooled in the corners and some of it hadn't been disturbed for years. Brock shuddered. He needed to find a rag and some cleaning solution before he went mad down here.

"Hide here," Winter whispered. He opened the door to a hidden closet and revealed a small room stuffed with ratty blankets and a filthy mattress. Winter tucked Brock in, his eyes dark. "I can't let them take you."

"Winter?" Brock whispered.

Winter _growled_. "That's not my name," he snarled. He tipped Brock's head up and gave him a nasty smile. "Don't call me 'Winter'. I'm not your Asset. My_ name_ is James." He touched Brock some and gave him a nasty smile. "I don't know why I like you, but I have to give you credit. That shit you set me up for? Something in the cattle prod fried my brain the right way." James' eyes narrowed. "I'm not going back to the Chair and you? Well, I think the word they call you is a hostage."

"Why?" Brock whispered. Common sense told him to stay close. He hunkered down as best he could, eyes wide and worried.

James shrugged. "Because I'm not being your slave anymore. Now, _sir_, why don't you take a nap and let me handle the big stuff? I don't need you messing this up for me." He paused and swore. "I'd kill for a smoke right about now."

"You and me both." Brock got himself as comfortable as he could and tried to quell the rising panic. This wasn't going to end well and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.


	11. Chapter 11

Winter - no, _James_ \- must have scrounged a pack of cigarettes from God knew where, because he was sitting on the edge of the nest, smoking like a freight train. His hard, dark blue eyes seemed to pin Brock now, going over every inch of his body. It was clear Brock was on lock down. He'd been through a lot in his life, but being a hostage wasn't one of them. SRE training only went so far. If James wanted to get nasty, there was nothing Brock could do to stop him. He knew exactly what that metal arm was capable of - he'd cleaned it up enough times, after all. James relaxed back like a large cat. He seemed tensed up, ready to pounce. He'd gotten a rifle from who knows where and had it propped on his knees.

The assortment of handguns were scattered about in a thousand pieces. James was cleaning and repairing some. The others, he just salvaged parts out of. It was an efficient, military operation, just like the Soldier was supposed to be. Brock didn't want to know what had happened in his mind. There was no telling and the Soldier wasn't exactly stable. James had the ability to pin him down with a single look. Brock likened that to the lead scientist and all he'd been able to force Brock to do, so many years ago. He should have escaped then. He should have made a run for it, back when his name was Sacha and he didn't speak a word of English. But he hadn't and he'd paid a terrible price.

Maybe that was why he was sent to America - as punishment for helping Yosef and the others run away.

James stood up and stretched out. His hard eyes made Brock shiver and try to roll away, but there was nothing he could do. James knelt down beside the bed, stroking his hair and pulling it back so Brock was forced to look him in the eye. "Well, who's is it? Or are you the sort of whore who spreads his legs willy nilly?" His gaze darkened. "I think I remember both..."

"Steve's." Or Pierce's. Brock honestly didn't know, but he didn't want to be attacked. Apparently, that was the right thing to say, because James covered his mouth in a harsh kiss and pressed him backwards, fingers tangling in his dark hair. Brock tried to push him away. He didn't want this. He didn't want the punishment he was sure to get. He didn't want this James to touch him - there was none of the softness, the warmth that Winter had, even when his eyes were wild. James seemed to be made of rage and there was a good chance he might take it out on Brock. If Brock lost that little monster, he was pretty sure his life was forfeit. He'd wind up pinned to a steel slab, being taken apart before his very eyes.

"What's this?" James whispered. He drew back some, stroking Brock's lip. Brock swallowed. He screwed his eyes shut and begged the gods that had never listened to him before to just _make this stop_. He didn't want it. He _liked_ Winter - liked him despite the damage he could do. To have those good memories, some of the only ones he had, destroyed by the monster wearing Winter's face... Brock didn't know if he could take it. James sat back on his heels and watched as Brock scrambled away from him. "Well, aren't you the touchy one."

"Why don't you buy me a drink first?" Brock suggested. He wrapped his arms around his legs and eyed a completed handgun. There wasn't any ammunition that he could see. If course, that didn't mean that James hadn't been hoarding it. No one checked the Asset's pockets - there was no need too. What exactly could a brainwashed murder droid want? Well, as it turned out, quite a bit. Brock eyed him, trying to appear brave. "Unless you're gonna treat me like Pierce, I ain't exactly easy."

No, he just made them buy his services like a high priced whore.

James laughed. "Easy? Doll, I know exactly what you do for the higher ups." He crouched over Brock and cupped his chin again. "I don't understand why I want you, but I do. I don't know if you remind me of _him_ or not. And knowin' you're carrying his kid... you know, I think I could live with that. Havin' the knock off all to myself."

Brock huffed and pulled away. "I don't want to die, James. I know they'll just zap your brains out and make you into a drooling zombie, but I don't have that leeway. Your little stunt might get me vivisected." He shuddered some. The parasite would give him nine months. It'd be enough time, he hoped, to plot an escape before he got too heavy. He frowned some. "Why did you take us here instead of, I don't know, outside?" He sighed some. James was running on autopilot or his brains were scrambled worse than gas station eggs. He suppressed a laugh at the image. Brock needed to stay calm - there was no telling what James could do. He was dangerous, Brock knew. And also, most likely, unresponsive to the Words.

"I killed them." James leaned down and kissed his head. "I killed the techs. Tossed their stupid little book down the waste chute along with their twitching bodies. There aren't anymore Words, because none of you bothered to learn them."

Brock cursed softly. "I don't want to die, James. Just take me back, please."

"What do you think happens after?" James snapped. His metal hand tightened, tearing some of the blanket. "If you carry this one to term, they'll keep you like this until you can't do it anymore. And guess what happens then - you're dead. Cut up in a thousand pieces for HYDRA to study again and again. Maybe if you're lucky, they'll stun you first. Or give you nitrogen gas so you're dead."

Brock was about to say anything, but he heard the tell tale hiss of escaping gas. He hunkered down and covered his nose. James snarled one last time. The weight over him vanished and Brock could just barely hear a scuffle. There were more coming, some dim part of him knew. He could hear boots pounding down the metal stairs and hear people yelling. Maybe someone started shooting. Maybe they didn't. All Brock knew was that he started to fall into a dense, inescapable darkness. The last thing he knew was someone grabbing his limp body and dragging him away to who knew where.


	12. Chapter 12

Brock woke up in the middle of a medical bay with several monitors buried deep in his arms. The rough, scratchy material surrounded his body and caught on his skin. His back ached - it felt like some part of him was knotted up like a tapestry. Brock just lay there for a few minutes. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing there, or why some meathead felt the need to yell that TV. Yeah, he wasn't the biggest fan of _Forrest Gump_, but he didn't know why the guy had to watch something he hated when the remote was right over there. If he could get up and move, he'd turn the damn channel to something the guy liked. If only because he just didn't want to hear the guy cursing at everything.

He didn't know which was more annoying - the guy screaming at the storm or the guy screaming at the TV.

Brock figured this had to deal with the parasite in his belly. He wanted to get rid of it, but there was no way now. Not with how Pierce was likely controlling this entire incident. This had to be him - the entire place _reeked_ of it. The stark white walls, the sterile stench, the way the blankets seemed to rub his skin raw, it all seemed like something he would come up with. The company seemed to suck. The guy doing the talking needed to shut his damn mouth before Brock scrambled up and beat the shit out of him. He might have had a weird taste in TV, but that didn't mean he was going to inflict that pain on innocent people. Hell, he wished he hadn't been made the way he was, there was no way the parasite would have a decent life, not while HYDRA was in power.

If they couldn't get the DNA from Rogers directly, thanks to Helen Cho locking his records down, they could get DNA from Rogers' hellspawn. All they had to do was isolate his half of the DNA and then they had everything they wanted. The Asset's version of the serum wasn't nearly as complete as Rogers' and they still couldn't replicate it. Why they thought they could do the same thing with Barnes was beyond him. They never asked Brock, though. He was nothing but a glorified soldier-slave. He'd been made to be the fuck toy of some rich general, but somehow, he'd made it this far without getting a parasite in his belly. As much as Brock hated it, this was part and parcel of being him.

After leaving him alone for several hours, someone started walking down to him. Brock shuddered. He wished he had more control of his body. If he did, he'd be getting up and out of here. Rough hands grabbed him, forced his head to look at some bruiser and Pierce. Pierce looked like he was overjoyed, but the bruiser looked like he was a little freaked out. Brock didn't blame him. That said, that didn't mean that he didn't have to be nice to the son of a bitch. He wasn't feeling being nice - what he wanted to do was kick some ass, but the muscle relaxer wasn't letting him. It really, _really_ sucked to be him. Pierce, of course, looked like he was the cat that finally got the canary.

"What's going on?" Brock mumbled. He wanted up, but he got the feeling that was out of the question. "Why.. why can't I use my legs?"

"It's a precaution," Pierce smoothly said. He ruffled Brock's dark hair, his pale blue eyes gleaming with some sort of sick glee. Brock decided he hated that SOB right then and there. Pierce shook his head, as if he could understand Brock's thoughts. "We don' t want you running away, you understand. The life inside of you is much more valuable than you are."

Brock cringed. "I don't want it," he whispered. "I don't want it in me. Get it out! _Please_!" He heard the ugly sob, but didn't think it was him until he did it again. Brock tried not to cringe too much. He didn't want to be... didn't want to be pregnant. He didn't want to have the parasite inside of him, didn't want to think about something else living inside his body and using him. All he wanted to do was go back to his old life, such as it was, back. Brock swallowed and grabbed at Pierce. "How... how's it going to come out?"

"I think your body knows what it's going to do," Pierce replied. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable looking white chair, putting his legs up on the clear glass table. There was nothing else there. No books, no TV, nothing. Pierce smiled once again. "You know, I never did want to have you leading active missions. Your place has always been on your knees and this just proves it."

He growled. "No!" Brock tried to force himself up, panting from the effort. "You son of a bitch! They'll know I'm missing. Clint - Clint knows where I live! You can't do this to me!"

"We already did," Pierce whispered. He caressed Brock's chin, his face contorted in the facsimile of a smile. "They believe that you're on a mission. South America, I think? You won't be coming back, oh, ever? For all I care, they can think you were killed in action. I think we could even give you a proper burial. Plastic surgery id a modern miracle and homeless people are a dime a dozen."

"Why?" Brock whispered. "Why me?"

He wasn't going to get to see Clint. Jack. Hell, even Barnes. He was going to be locked up under the Trisk until he died and there was nothing he could do about it. If that didn't fill you with a sense of dread, nothing would. Brock just shook his head some, not wanting to ever see Pierce again. He had to get out of here, couldn't let them keep him here. He had to get out of here. Even if it killed him. If it killed the parasite, well, he was okay with that. He didn't want the damn thing anyways. If Pierce forced him to keep it... he didn't know what he was going to do. Kill himself, maybe. Kill it if he could. Escape and kill Pierce. He was going to have to do something and that something didn't mean he had to take it like a lamb.

Pierce just gave him a sick smile as he turned to leave. "Because you're the one with a woman's body, you little freak. Not me."

And then he left, leaving Brock to wallow in the misery.


	13. Chapter 13

Clint didn't pretend to like Brock. They weren't exactly the same thing - Clint was the South American knock off version to Brock's precision made machine - but they were close enough that what worked for one worked for the other. If Brock went into shock because he was given some sort of medication, then it was a pretty good bet that Clint would do the same thing. Clint rather liked it that Brock would take one for the team. Unlike Brock, who had escaped and nearly froze to death in a snowdrift, Clint had been purchased by Nick Fury and he knew his way around a dick. He knew how to take one so he wouldn't tear or start choking. Clint was pretty sure Brock didn't know how to do it - Jack had pretty much admitted that Brock wouldn't do anything with him.

Clint let himself into Brock's apartment and looked around for his computer. He didn't buy the story about Brock going to South America. First off, he always sent Clint an email, usually giving him a few bucks and telling him to get shiftfaced. That was a tradition between the two of them, one that Clint started. Neither one of them ever forgot it. For another, Jack was still in town. Jack was Brock's unofficial handler and wherever one went, the other wasn't far behind. Clint also had access to the SHIELD computers, via JARVIS. There weren't _any_ active SHIELD missions to anywhere in South America, not even the Falklands. Brock wasn't the type to just fuck off, either.

As much as Clint hated Brock, he had to admit that the man was loyal. He wasn't going to just walk off and leave everything that he had ever worked for. Clint bit his bottom lip as he thought over a few other things. Pierce had been lying, too. Either he knew more than he was letting on or he'd done something to take Brock off. Clint didn't know which one to believe. For all he knew, Pierce had kidnapped Brock for some series of twisted experiments and wasn't ever going to let him go again. Brock was pretty predictable if you knew him. Clint had guessed his password - the last four digits of Brock's phone number - several years ago. Brock wasn't the type to change his passwords unless he had too and that made things so much easier.

Clint sat down on the couch, going through Brock's email. Brock had linked his cellphone to his Google Drive and he had a backup for all of his text messages. Clint went through Brock's grocery list (what sort of fool texted himself a grocery list instead of ordering from Amazon Fresh?), a few sexy texts with Steve, including a dick pick (nothing Clint hadn't seen before on either man), Jack reminding Brock to lock the front door, and a few texts from Pierce about a... problem. Well, that needed some looking into. Clint took his flash drive and sent a query to find the rest of them. While he was waiting, he got up and went to find some of Brock's good beer. Huh. Clint hadn't known that Brock had quit drinking as well as smoking.

That was... new. And not exactly like him. Brock had smoked like a Russian soldier. Sometimes he rubbed it in, that he could smoke a pack a day and not get lung cancer and die. Yeah, he and Brock had been dosed with the serum when they were young. Brock smoked and drank like the Russian he was. Clint was pretty sure that he wouldn't have given those habits up unless he was forced too. Clint wandered back to the computer and sent out a ping to find Brock's cellphone. He wandered off again, letting the computer chew on it, while he tried to find something to do. Or drink. He wasn't picky. Clint wandered through the small apartment. He frowned when he saw the hole in the wall, as well as the fact that Brock hadn't taken his gear or his waterproof socks.

Okay. Something was up. Clint had no idea what it was, but two plus two did _not_ equal five.

Someone opened the front door. Clint raised his head and wandered up to the front door. "Jack?" he called. "Jack!"

"I'm not Jack," someone growled. That someone shoved a cold metal barrel in the back of Clint's skull. "Now turn around, very slowly, and I won't blow your brains out."

Clint obeyed and found himself staring at a man with iron grey eyes. His long, stringy brown hair was tied off with a zip tie and he was filthy. Clint's eyes widened when he saw the metal arm. "But - you're... you're not real!"

"I hear that a lot," the man snarled. He stalked over to the computer and picked it up.

"Hey!" Clint scrambled over there, only to be slapped off. "Don't break that! It's not mine! That's Brock's, not mine, and I'm trying to find his phone so I can find him!" He crossed his arms, trying to figure out why he had the fucking Winter Soldier staring at him like he'd just grown three heads. "I don't like him very much, but he's not a bad guy. He's actually... well, he lets me drink his beer and crash on his couch."

The Soldier gave him a flat look. "You're trying to find Commander Rumlow?"

"Uh, yeah?" Clint crossed his arms. "Like I said, he's a dick, but he's been letting me drink his craft beer for several years. So I owe him one." He liked lying to himself. He liked lying that he didn't like Brock very much. "Do you know where he is or...?"

"I know where he is," the Soldier grumbled. "What I need is his passkey."

"He keeps that on him," Clint suggested. He closed the computer. "But, I know someone who has an active key and has a vested interest in Brock coming home in one piece." He looked up. "This has to be HYDRA, right?" Internally, he was screaming. He had the fucking Winter Soldier glaring daggers at him and he was talking about bringing Captain America into this. The Soldier nodded and Clint pressed on. "So... is Brock HYDRA? Did he get kidnapped or something? Or... did his boyfriend knock him up?"

The Soldier blinked. "I'm sorry? You knew - "

"Yeah. I'm another one, but I'm nearly stone deaf and sterile." Clint went through Brock's things and came up with his butterfly knife and a few other things. Most notably was his driver's license and his credit card. Brock never left those two things where they might get lost or stolen. "So. We need to call Captain America, because that's his boyfriend."

The Soldier gave him a funny look. "Captain America?"

"I'm sure he'll answer to 'Baby Daddy' too," Clint replied. "So. I'm going to call Captain America and we're going to figure out how to rescue one agent of HYDRA." Clint shook his head as he grabbed his things and his cellphone. Never did he ever think he was going to rescue a member of HYDRA, but hey, he was an Avenger. Shit happened.

Now he just had to figure out how to word things for Steve.


	14. Chapter 14

Brock curled up on the other side of the cell, trying to not claw at his stomach. The little parasite was growing bigger and leeching more and more of his energy. They fed him enough calories to get through the day, but it was all tasteless and grey. Brock had no doubt that it was made for the parasite, not him. The food tasted like _shit_. Brock had a stint as a mercenary and while he'd never worked with that pain in the ass, he'd heard of him. The last thing Brock heard of him, he'd been left for dead in a river. And here Brock was, over a decade later, curled up in an underground cage with sensors taped to his belly. He had no privacy and they'd taken his clothes and blanket after he'd tried to choke himself.

"You wanna check on the prisoner or not?"

Brock turned his face. He hid himself as best he could, even though his growing belly was getting in the way. He'd been down here for at least three months and he'd been poked and prodded and had samples of everything taken from him. There were still great, bloody bruises on his stomach where they had taken samples from the parasite. As much as he hated the damn thing, he didn't think he want it to die, so he'd fought tooth and nail. Turns out, they had housed the Soldier down here and he was clamped down on a cold table. Brock had just bought himself so many bad things that he didn't want to think about it anymore. As it sat, he was in deep shit.

"Make sure it's still breathing. Pierce is gonna have our heads if the damn thing dies." One of the men stopped before the cell, his blue eyes cold and cutting. It was like he wanted Brock to fall on his knees and beg for food - Brock would die before he did that. The man snorted. "Rogers doesn't seem to think that you're dead, _Commander_."

"How the mighty have fallen," the other sneered. Brock thought his name was Mick or something like that. The other one he called Dickhead. Mick grinned at him and held up his electro-baton. "Course, you falling means that you had status in the first place. Beyond being the team whore, I don't think you did."

Brock bared his teeth, but he let the two of them in. They dragged him up, hauling him towards the showers. Brock braced himself. No one had been brave enough to fuck him - he was pretty sure that no one wanted to hurt the parasite - but that didn't mean they wouldn't rough him up. As it was, the two forced him to his knees. Brock opened his mouth obediently. The only time he'd done this willingly was with Steve - and that had been stopped once Brock started gagging. It was rather odd, he thought, that a super solider would stop and let him cuddle until he was ready again. Here, he was reduced to slobbering on two stinking cocks and trying to ignore where he was.

Mick was right. The mighty _had_ fallen, but not in the way they thought. Now that he knew what a loving relationship was, it was going to be hard to go back to this. Hell, Steve had brought him fresh socks after he'd learned that Brock liked the feeling of clean socks on his feet. Steve hadn't said anything rude to him, either. Brock had the feeling that these two wouldn't give him that or they would just enjoy hurting all the more. These two didn't know him, didn't care about him, and the only reason they didn't just kill him was the parasite in his belly. As much as he hated the thing, it was keeping him alive. He supposed that he had to be grateful, but it was hard with the icy cold water currently crashing over his body.

He was nothing. Brock had always been nothing - he was created in a lab, not born like everyone else. He was fertile in more ways than one - even Clint was more of a normal man than he was. Brock had no idea what had been done to the others he'd been with, though he knew it was nothing good. At least he'd been fed and cared for with STRIKE. HYDRA might have taken him from SHIELD, but he'd been fed and cared for there, too. Brock had slumped against the cold tile, watching the two men with jaded eyes. He didn't want to be here. He hadn't wanted to be with Steve, but it had felt good. He never wanted to be with Pierce and he hated being with the Soldier.

Brock ignored them as he was hauled out. They began another battery of tests and he was forced to swallow another handful of marker pills. They wanted to find out things about his body and he tried to keep calm as his legs were spread and they touched him all over. If Brock cried, he would never admit it. The tears were hot and scalding against his cold skin. Brock understood now why Winter had hated the techs - they were cold and hard, scraping his innards and touching things that he didn't want touched. If Brock called out for Steve, that was his own damn problem. He wanted Steve to be with him, to hold his hand through what was going on.

He knew he was nothing, not even a man. They didn't have to tell him that. Brock just wanted to get out of there and he ignored the rumblings in the backgrounds. It was probably another experiment. Nothing like him, though. There was no telling what HYDRA had down here - for all he knew, someone had created another demon core and they would use it to take over the world. Brock did wish that he was a little less exposed, though. A blanket over his chest would have been nice. Or a pair of pants. Something to cover his chest so he wouldn't have to look at the changes on his body. It made him want to rip his own skin off and there was nothing he could do about it.

Brock Rumlow hated being helpless. He hated being the one who had to lay, prone on his back, as he could hear the screaming and the rumbling. He didn't know what was going on and the magnet cuffs kept him locked down. He couldn't move, couldn't fight back. All he could do was lay there and try not to pass out. He could just barely see a familiar shock of blonde hair and light glinting off a metal arm, but he wasn't sure if it was real or not. Maybe he was going mad. Maybe he'd been down here for too long. Maybe three months was enough to drive him insane. Maybe the only reason they kept him alive was the parasite in his belly. Maybe he was dead and this was his hell.

He lay back against the metal and stared at the ceiling as it fell down around him.


	15. Chapter 15

Steve held Brock close to him, sheltering his body from the falling masonry. He could hear the snarling, the yelling as Bucky and Clint took on the rest of the soldiers. Brock was out of it. He just lay in Steve's arms, coughing weakly every so often. Steve swallowed softly. He didn't like this. Brock was much too weak in his arms and he wasn't giving Steve any of the snark he was used too. Even on his worst days, he'd at least talked to him. This was just Brock doing what Brock did - this was something else entirely. Brock was also naked. Steve tried to cover Brock as best he could, knowing that the man hated being naked in front of others. Steve knew he didn't like that tattoo to be seen by others, even though it was on his back.

"I've got you," Steve whispered. "I've got you. I'm not gonna let you go, I promise."

"Steve!" Clint yelled. "C'mon! We need to get out of here!"

Steve stroked Brock's head and just wrapped him up in the blanket. He had to carry Brock out - there was no way that he was going to be walking out of this. His belly looked strangely bloated, like there was something stuck inside of him. If Steve hadn't known better, he would have said that Brock's stomach was distended. Not that he was... pregnant. And it was his kid, too. Steve didn't know what to think about that. He didn't know what Brock thought about that, or what he wanted to do with the child. He just wanted to know what the other man wanted to do, but there was no way of telling what Brock needed. Or if he was in any position to make a choice about his medical care.

He tried not to think about it. It would make him too angry and Brock needed the kindness. The bruises on his belly made it look like he'd been beaten. Steve's dream - that they would go and eat at Brock's favorite restaurant. Brock wasn't a fan of steakhouses, so they went to a loud hole in the wall known as Cricket's. The staff knew Brock's name and his order (twelve hot wings, extra crisp fries, ranch, and sweet tea with light ice). They hadn't liked him at first, but they had accepted him. Brock was truly something special. Steve didn't want to lose what he had, so he was going to do whatever it took to keep him. If that meant that he was playing babysitter for a very sick man, he was going to play babysitter for a very sick man.

Brock clung to him like a baby monkey. Steve pressed him close, stroking through his black hair. Brock didn't make a sound. He was bleeding, he was wounded, and he really needed the medical care. Steve didn't want to lose him, so he was just going to keep on doing this. For all he knew, Brock was going to die in the next five minutes and he was going to feel awful. This was his fault. He'd stuck himself into Brock when he could have backed off. Steve just held Brock close to him, rocking him gently. There wasn't anything he could do to make the pain better. He'd covered Brock's naked body. He knew that Brock would have wanted that if he was coherent. But he wasn't, so Steve had to make the choices.

"I've got you," Steve softly said. He carried Brock into the Tower, taking care to shield him from any of the sudden drafts. "I'm so sorry for what happened. If I knew what they would have done..."

"He was told to get with you," Clint growled. He bowed his head, but it was very clear that he was irritated. "He was Barnes'. Barnes doesn't like to share."

Steve swallowed and tried to not get too upset. Bucky couldn't control himself and it wasn't his fault. It reminded him of an old cartoon he'd watched as a kid, one of the ones that Tony had told him to never mention again. That one also got him a class on racial sensitivity. Steve had gone through a steep learning curve and there were times when he still had to look things up. He just didn't know what was expected of him anymore. The comics had turned him into something that he wasn't. Steve just held Brock close and just tried not to think about it too much. He didn't want Brock to die, even if he didn't know what he was going to do. Would Bucky even want him?

"I don't want to hurt him," Steve admitted. "I just... I don't know if I can deal with him or not."

Clint just growled again and turned away. "You already hurt him. You just don't know how bad yet."


	16. Chapter 16

Brock curled up under the blankets, pulling at his pants. A dim part of Brock's mind wondered if he was going mad - they had never allowed him to wear clothes in the facility. He had just been a breeding machine for them. Like he'd been created for in the old country. Brock wanted to go back, but he knew that it was out of the question. He belonged to HYDRA. They_ owned_ him. Brock was pretty sure that there was a piece of paper to that effect and the tattoo on his back said that much. Even so, he was warm for once. He basked in the heat and smiled softly. Even if he was going mad, his delusions were nice and warm for once. He ran his hands over the edges of his blanket before he opened his eyes.

Steve-Fucking-Rogers squeezed his hands, his blue eyes full of worry. "You're awake! I... I thought that you wouldn't be waking up..."

Brock blinked and swallowed with his suddenly dry throat. "I... I would like some water..."

He mentally cursed. Yeah, he'd like some water. Enough water to drown himself and his stupid parasite. Brock dropped a hand over his swollen belly. It was viable, he knew that much. A crapshot as to if it had his or Steve's genetics. A distant part of him wondered if he should go ahead and terminate it. If it had his genetics, he was just dooming it to a life of slavery and misery. Besides, he didn't even know if he wanted to have a kid or not. Yeah, Brock had had the sex. It hadn't been his choice, though, and Brock wondered if he'd made the right choices getting there. Rogers cared about him. Rogers cared about him more than he should have. Brock didn't know what to do with that information.

Steve kissed his head and came back with a bottle of water. He tipped Brock's head back and murmured softly, helping him drink. Brock was greedy, gulping the water as best he could. It tasted pure and sweet, better than the stale stuff he'd been drinking. Steve dried Brock's mouth off and held his hand. Brock puled close to Steve, clutching at his shirt with trembling fingers. He wanted this. He wanted to be close to someone who wouldn't hurt him. Brock closed his eyes and tried to ignore the tears staining his cheek. Steve kissed the tears away, stroking his long black hair. Brock started crying harder, clinging to the one man who had treated him kindly. And what had he done? Gone right back to HYDRA.

"I'm sorry," Brock whispered. "I'm so, so sorry." He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. "I tried. I tried to get away..."

"Jack and Clint told me everything," Steve murmured. He touched Brock's belly, kindness in his eyes. "I never thought I would get to have kids, you know. Back in my day, I would have been buried under the jail if they knew I didn't like the ladies." He kissed Brock on the cheek. "I just never thought I would be the one doing the hurting, you know."

"That musta sucked." Brock managed to crack a weak smile. "You and Barnes, before he went batshit."

"What do you mean, _before_?" Steve snickered. He curled beside Brock and pulled the weaker man close to him. Brock melted into his side, nuzzling up to the larger man. Steve laughed softly and kissed Brock's messy hair. "He was always crazy, Brock. And I loved him. Just like I love the both of you now."

"The next time wear a damn parachute when you go skydiving," Brock teased. He poked one well defined ab, his wounded eyes light. "Can we watch a movie? Before... everything, Mercer was telling me how good the new _Charlie's Angels_ was." He smirked some. "Plus, it would send Collier into hysterics and one of his QAnon rants if he knew I was watching it."

Steve groaned. "Can we not talk about Collier? That man - "

"Is an asshole and I can take being called a 'libtard' if that means I can raise his blood pressure a few notches." Brock curled closer into Steve and clung to him with shaky fingers.

He didn't care that he was in the medical bay of Stark Towers. The place had good WIFI, going by how Steve could load the movie so quickly. He rested his head on Steve's shoulder and tried not to close his eyes. Steve made an awful pillow. He was too muscular, too defined. There wasn't enough body fat to make a soft resting place for his bruised and bloodied body. He squirmed some and sighed. Steve actually hurt him! He still cuddled the man, but he didn't actually sprawl over him. Steve cupped Brock's swollen belly and stroked over it. The parasite inside of him kicked for the first time. Brock grunted, his eyes flying open. That... was unexpected.

"Was that what I thought it was?" Steve whispered. His blue eyes were filled with awe and he pressed a shaky kiss to Brock's lips.

"Yeah," Brock whispered. "I guess he knows his daddy."

Brock rested back and closed his eyes. He was safe now. The parasite was safe now - it had started to grow on him and Brock didn't think that he could part with it now. He managed a smile after a minute. At least for now, he was safe. HYDRA couldn't get him, even though Brock knew that they would try. And if they couldn't get him, they would get Jack, Clint, or Winter.


End file.
